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The enigma surrounding Sigur Ros starts to unravel itself here with touches of sweet imperfections dotting their otherworldly soundscapes. With less reverb comes lesser restraint as blips of squeaky fretboards, splintered keys and lonesome acoustic plucks help remind us that these guys are indeed residents of planet Earth. Glass-cutting falsetto, majestic brass, heavy-eyed piano and even a London boy's choir keep the grandiosity bubbling until colossal cymbal crashes and victorious drumline beats on "Festival" and "Ara Batur" spill over the band's brew of fragile beauty into epic elation.